


What We Have Been Given

by kat_snow2613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Endgame, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8490736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_snow2613/pseuds/kat_snow2613
Summary: Jon and Sansa spend their first-and last-night together as husband and wife.





	

Jon and Sansa stood in their chamber in Winterfell. The snow was falling outside, the fire hissing quietly. It was almost peaceful. Sansa stood with her hands on Jon’s chest, looking into his grey eyes.

“You’re going to die tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Earlier that day, Daenerys Targaryen and Tyrion Lannister had arrived at Winterfell. Sansa had long since been dreading the day that the Silver Queen was going to come to take Jon, either to behead him, or wed him. But this was much worse. Tyrion and Daenerys had asked to speak privately with Jon, and disappeared for several hours. When they’d emerged, they looked like they’d come from a funeral. Jon had taken Sansa’s hand and led her to their chamber.

Jon and Sansa had been in command of Winterfell for over a year. They’d saved as many refugees as they could: the great hall was packed with women and children. It had been a year of fighting the darkness, fighting the cold. They had been holding back the wights with fire and steel, but Sansa knew they would not last much longer, especially if the rumors were true that the Wall had fallen. She knew that fire and obsidian and Valyrian steel were not enough. They needed fire made flesh. They needed dragons. And the dragon must have three heads. 

Sansa wanted to throw herself at Jon’s feet. To wrap her arms around his knees and beg him not to go. Let the world freeze, or let it burn, Sansa did not care. She would rather die with her head on Jon’s chest than face the rest of her life without him. But the choice was not hers. It was Jon’s choice. And when would Jon ever do anything but make the right choice?

“Then marry me. Take me into the Godswood. Say the words before the old gods and the new. Let the gods know that you are mine and I am yours. Tyrion is here. He can consent to our marriage being annulled. He owes us at least this.” Sansa finished.

“Are you sure?” Jon asked.

“Let me have one night with my husband before he leaves me forever. Let the world know what I am loosing so they might live.”

Jon considered Sansa for a moment. Would that be even more cruel? To stand in front of the tree was to say to a woman that all the rest of your nights were hers. Jon had only one night to give to Sansa. Would he truly marry her for one night, only to widow her in the morn? Jon would have married Sansa a hundred times already, but she was still married to Tyrion. The dwarf arrived, bringing everything they needed, only to take it away.

“Yes.”

Daenerys and Tyrion looked shocked when they told them, but consented quickly enough. Sansa pulled some of the women aside and set preparations into motion. Sansa had a few young girls help her dress. She found a dress that had belonged to her mother. It was the softest white silk, stitched with blue thread. Sansa imagined her mother working on it in Riverun and her heart ached so badly for a moment she had to grab the bedpost for support. 

The girls knew the importance of their task and carefully laced her into her dress and brushed her hair. Sansa imagined for just a moment that the world was normal. If three little girls were helping her dress, how could anything bad be happening? How could death be marching towards them at that very moment?

“You look beautiful, m’lady,” the youngest of them said. She was a skinny little thing with huge eyes. 

“Only because you girls did such a fine job,” Sansa smiled at them. The girls’ dresses were worn and dirty; luxury and comfort had been cast aside long ago during these bleak times. 

“It’s a great honor to attend a lady at her wedding. You must have something fine.” She wrapped the girls in some of her shawls. 

In blue and pink and lace, holding candles, Sansa’s attendants led her into the Godswood. Some of the small folk had gathered. They beamed at her. Sansa’s first wedding had been attended by lords and ladies, princes and princesses. This one was attended by smiths and tanners, millers and innkeeps. There was a soldier or two, and Brienne stood at the front of the group, smiling at her lady.

Gathered by the tree were Jon, Daenarys, and Tyrion. How queer, she thought, that her first husband would attend her second wedding. Jon was holding a bridal cloak—rather, an old Night’s Watch cloak with one of Dany’s Targaryen banners hastily stitched to the back. Sansa couldn’t help but laugh. The laughter spread across her face and she looked even more beautiful.

Jon took a step towards Sansa. “You look radiant.”

He draped the cloak around her shoulders. It smelled of pine and fur and sweat. It smelled like Jon. 

They held hands before the tree. The wind was soft and the leaves rustled like a content sigh. Sansa wondered how many of her grandfathers and grandmothers had been wed before this tree. That night, in front of gods and men, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, and Prince Jon Targaryen were wed. 

The party quickly retreated back inside to get away from the cold. The hall was crowded. Someone had opened a cask of ale. Food that had long since been hoarded was passed around freely. A fiddle played a merry tune. It had been so long since there had been a reason to be happy. Inside of that hall, packed with a tired and war torn people, there was hope. 

“To the Starks!” An old man shouted, lifting his mug.

“To Lady Sansa!”

“To Lord Eddard, may he rest in peace!”

The fiddle played, joined by a drum. Jon and Sansa smiled as their people came to them to touch them, bless them, kneel before them. It was a sweetness they’d never known before. They gave themselves a moment to enjoy it, to let it wash over them. Finally Jon turned to Sansa. “My lady, I hate to pull you away from your wedding, but…” “Let us retire, my lord.” Sansa reached for his hand. A cheer went up as they left the hall hand in hand. 

Back in their chamber, Jon patiently undid the lacings the girls had so carefully tied. He helped Sansa out of her dress, kissing each bit of bare skin that he revealed. Sansa leaned into his kiss. “My lord husband,” she whispered. “My lady wife,” he returned. They pulled out of their remaining clothes and tumbled into the bed. 

Jon was determined to kiss every inch of her. For years to come, if Sansa looked at her wrist, touched the inside of her elbow, rubbed the small of her back, and thought, “Did Jon ever kiss me here?” he wanted her to be sure that the answer was ‘yes.’ 

Their grasping became more desperate. He kissed her neck and ears and mouth and told her that he loved her. When she began to cry, he kissed the tears, because they came from his lady and he loved all of her. Determined to not let their wedding night be one of tears, he descended down her body, kissing her stomach and thighs. He kissed her hips, and her knees, because he wasn’t sure that he ever had. Then he kissed her where he knew for a fact he’d kissed her a hundred times. Her sex was sweet and salty and ready for him. He licked away her wetness, but she only made more. She started to beg him to enter her, but he was determined he would finish her like this first. When she shuddered and then lay still, he crawled back up to her, kissing her shoulder. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him into her. Their eyes met, blue and grey. 

She’d had Jon a hundred times before, but this time, he was her husband. 

She wrapped her arms around him and clutched his back, trying to memorize every bone, every muscle, every scar. She was finding it difficult to concentrate on the task because he wouldn’t stop kissing her. His thrusts were measured and consistent. Between his hard stomach pressing against her sex, and his careful preparation, she came easily, moaning and grasping at him each time. 

Sansa’s moans were making it difficult to concentrate. He wanted to make this last as long as possible, but her contractions around him were pulling him closer to the edge. She lifted her mouth to his ear. “Jon…come inside of me.” The thought was too much temptation for Jon. She had always insisted that he come on her stomach or breasts. Now she begged him to fill her with his seed. He yielded, and came hard, pumping into her as she encouraged him with her breath and body. 

He collapsed on top of her, his face between her breasts. This time, he was the one to start crying.

“No, my sweetness, no tears. We have cried enough,” Sansa stroked his hair and comforted him.

“It’s not fair, Sansa.”

“Nothing that has happened to us since we left Winterfell has been fair. But this is what we have been given. We have been given this night.” Sansa pulled Jon’s face to hers. “And I do not think we should spend it in tears.” She kissed him long and deep until the pleasure overtook the pain and they were making love again.

They spent their last night together making love, and pulling each other back from the edge of madness. They cried and whispered about their favorite memories, and mourned the ones they would never have the chance to make.

Jon trailed his fingers over Sansa’s stomach. His seed was drying on her thighs and the bed.

“Do you think…” He didn’t have to courage to ask her what he really wanted to know.

She knew what he was asking. She cupped his face. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“Can we just pretend? There’s no harm in pretending?” He pleaded.

Sansa stroked his shoulder. “I think it’s a boy.”

Jon smiled. He didn’t care if Sansa was just comforting him or not.

“Would you name him Eddard?”

“My love. You know that I would.” 

They spent the rest of the night wrapped in each other, occasionally sleeping, but staying awake enough to continue kissing and holding one another.

Sansa woke to the noise of Jon dressing in the soft light of the dawn. He was buckling his sword belt, Longclaw in it’s scabbard. Silently, she pulled on a dress and some furs.

They met with rest of them at the gate. Tyrion and Daenerys were already saddled, Brienne and Pod standing silent vigil.

Jon pulled Sansa to him for the last time. They held each other as the others looked on. Jon’s voice caught in his throat. What could he possibly say to her? 

Sansa raised her mouth to Jon’s ear. “I love you, Jon Snow. I will love you till the end of my days.”

“I love you, Sansa Stark. I have to go now.” He pulled away and quickly mounted his horse, because he knew if he stopped, he was lost. The three of them rode off. 

Sansa stood, silently watching them disappear. When the horses and dragons were no longer visible, she collapsed. She screamed and wailed and cursed the gods for taking everything away from her that she had ever loved. She beat her fists against the hard ground outside her father’s castle. She sobbed that it wasn’t fair. After a time, her sobs grew quiet, then silent. She sat upright, and Pod and Brienne stepped forward to help her up. She brushed the dirt from her dress as best she could. She looked at the two of them.

“Come, my friends. There’s much to be done.”


End file.
